Facebook Poem

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posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 10:40 AM
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This is the way I feel about facebook and the way I felt as I wrote the poem.

'You’re being watched, there’s a big database
With your pictures and details inside of a box
You’re been watched, they know what type is your blood
Your been watched, they know the stuff that you love
The stuff that you hate, and the people you hump
But you still can’t tell that you’re been watched?
By who knows who, or who knows what
No one read the terms when they signed the dots
Facebook is your God
They have you as a slave
Every day now you’re obsessed with the web page
They even know your father’s name, and your mama’s name
Your brothers too
And the people you know, and the people you knew
What you done, where you been
They know what you’re gona do
They know what you like
They work with the industry, selling you life
They know what you buy
You posted last night
That you wanted a new pair shoes, colour white
Do you see where I’m at?
Way they watch you
In fact
Way they got you like rats in a maze
And you can’t seem to find your way back
You’re being watched, they know the stuff that you love
The stuff that you hate and the people you hump
Your been watched
There’s a big database
With your details and pictures inside of box
You’re been watched
They know if you are religious or not
Who you vote for, they know the lot
You gave them permission, when you signed the dots
You think it’s a joke
But the truth is you’re stuck
You’re being watched'




posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 11:15 AM
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reply to post by Dr Cosma
 


loved it


expresses reality, in a gritty street way
confirming causality, our american day.



posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 11:20 AM
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reply to post by darrman
 


I am glad you did! Thank you!

I tried to be as down to earth as possible when I wrote it.



posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 11:47 AM
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reply to post by Dr Cosma
 


i have one,, i posted it once,, see how you like it....



Feeling Empty, useless , left out and forgotten.
mind races wild, defiled, but intensions not rotten.

I just need a place, to call my home.
Wish Uncle Sam, would throw me a bone.

You see, inside my beating chest, lays my Best friend
my kind heart.
Hoping it will see me through, not to the end, but to
my next start.

Do you know me? I ask. Without my "express card"?
Do I know myself? I task, to look inside my soul hard.

Hoping to find inside, my lifes goal.. but fearing
to find my hyde, has a neverending hole..
DRS



posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 11:53 AM
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reply to post by darrman
 


Yes I loved it


Especially the part of 'Do you know me without my express card'.

It's like people always ask who are you? We always reply 'im the salesman who works for so and so'.

Thanks for the poem. Appreciated and It's good.



posted on Apr, 19 2011 @ 12:05 PM
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reply to post by Dr Cosma
 


of course we both know THIS forum is not just about aliens and gov cover-ups ..

its good to see creative people THINK ,,and care to share their thoughts in style..

good day!





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